


Caffeine Eden

by WanderingAlice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: The proprietor of a small coffee shop next to Aziraphale's bookshop has opinions about Mr. Fell, other opinions about Mr. Crowley. They aren't exactly the opinions one would expect.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 673





	Caffeine Eden

**Author's Note:**

> [Based on this tumblr post. ](https://wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com/post/615682259730694144/there-are-people-who-like-crowley-he-finds-it) It was supposed to be a short little 500-word thing, that got a bit out of hand.

When Evelyn opened **_Caffeine Eden_** , she had thought she’d found the perfect place. After all, what could be better than a coffee shop right next to a bookstore? When she’d seen the listing online, she’d been ecstatic. Prime location in SoHo, next to a bookshop, actually not bad monthly rent, and her own little flat upstairs. She’d been in the middle of an international move at the time, and bought it sight-unseen. That proved to be her biggest mistake. If nothing else, she really should have spent some time actually _reading_ the reviews on A.Z. Fell & Co. If she had, she might have known what to expect.

Instead, she put out the sign on the first day, ready to welcome customers in to sit and have a nice warm drink while they read a good book from Mr. Fell’s. But what she got was a lot of frustrated customers coming in and bitching to _her_ because the bookstore wasn’t open. Or the clerk told them they were out of stock on something they could _clearly_ see on the shelves. Or Mr. Fell had flat out refused to sell to them. Or they were _thrown out_ because the bookshop was closing. At _nine in the morning_!

No one that ever came to Evelyn’s after going into Mr. Fell’s ever had anything good to say about the store, or the man. The foot traffic she had hoped would be drawn to her from book lovers needing their caffeine fix never materialized. And those that _did_ come to her after leaving the shop were always in a foul mood.

So overall she hadn’t had the best impression of Mr. A. Z. Fell before she met him. And she tried to put that aside, she really did. After all, everyone has their quirks. And his is pretty clearly running a shop that makes no profit and sending rude and angry customers in to berate her and her baristas for things that couldn’t possibly be their faults. It doesn’t matter to Evelyn what he does with his shop, and maybe he’s just really possessive of his collection. But then, a few weeks* after she opened, she met the man himself and realized that her impression of him had been right.

Oh, he was polite enough of course. Never overtly rude or mean. But the first words out of his mouth had been to lament the closing of the fish place that had been here before. Then he’d looked at her selection of pastry (which, to be fair, had been out for most of the day at this point and were fairly picked over), and had the audacity to ask if she didn’t have something else more to his taste in the back. Their interactions had only really gone downhill from there.

And, really, who could blame her? The man dresses in clearly _very_ expensive clothes that must have been custom made because they are all at _least_ four decades out of date**, speaks like a character from an old movie despite not being much older than Evelyn’s dad (who talks like a normal person, thank you very much), and seems like he’s intentionally _trying_ to give off the impression that he’s been around since the dark ages. (I mean, who calls bicycles _velocipedes_? Really?). Also, she’s fairly certain he’s a member of some sort of religious cult. He never tries to _convert_ her per se, but he does sometimes have oddly religious responses to things. Like the day her espresso machine had broken down, and he’d told her he was sure there was a reason for it, since God had a reason for everything.

And, well, she’s sorry, really, but she truly and utterly _hates_ that phrase. If God has a reason for everything, then why in the hell did he let her wife’s brother -who everyone agreed was the closest thing to a saint - die from that drunk driver crashing into him? Or why did babies die before they even had a chance to do anything wrong? Or, hell, if God was so powerful, why didn’t he just end world hunger? She… may have shouted that last bit, but in her defense it had been a _very_ bad day. And Mr. Fell had just sniffed and said “Well, it’s all part of the Great Plan, I expect.”

So, look, she _knows_ she’s being unfair, and he’s probably a decent guy underneath it all, but really, she’s only human. And sometimes people take irrational dislike to other people, and there really isn’t anything you can do to change that.

Still, she does have _some_ good customers.Take Mr. Crowley for instance. When she’d first seen him slink into her cafe, she’d been _sure_ he was one of _those_ assholes. You know the ones, the type that spend big bucks to have the newest and best fashion, always wear sunglasses indoors, and just have to make sure you _know_ how much better than you they are. But then he’d waltzed up to the counter and, while he did keep his sunglasses on, he was actually _polite_ to the poor kid taking his order, despite the fact that it was her first time on the register and got it wrong twice. He hadn’t said much more than his order that first day - a large hot chocolate and a caramel macchiato to go. But he kept coming back, and, well, Evelyn likes to get to know her regulars.

He always orders that large hot chocolate, which she’s fairly certain is for his boyfriend. He usually asks for it to be marked for ‘Angel’, in a way that makes her almost positive that it’s a pet name for someone. His own order always changes. Sometimes he’ll go with something sweet and sugary, while other days he’ll get straight black coffee without anything in it.

After a while, Evelyn started to notice that he usually goes for an americano on days when he seems especially out of sorts, and something with lots of milk and flavor syrups on his more cheerful days. He never _says_ anything, but she hadn’t been a barista very long before she’d developed a sort of sixth sense for how a customer was feeling.*** So the next time he ordered an americano, she gave him a slice of cake, on the house. He’d looked at her in surprise, and sort of grinned and thanked her. She liked to think that he looked a little happier when he left after that.

The next time he’d come in, he’d brought her a large plant. Said he thought the front of the shop looked a little empty, and maybe some flowers would brighten it up. She could throw it out if she didn’t want it, it was defective anyway, but, here it is, it just needs water every couple of days and a few hours of direct sunlight. Evelyn gave it a place of pride in her front window, and was rewarded by seeing a pleased smile on Mr. Crowley’s face when he came again and saw it there.

He’s never rude to her or her staff, or causes any trouble, despite the air of danger he’s so clearly trying to give off. In fact, one day, he’d been standing in line behind a woman with the iconic ‘I-want-to-speak-to-your-manager’ haircut who absolutely refused to pay full price for her drink, despite getting exactly what she ordered. Mr. Crowley’s face had clouded over when the woman began screaming at the poor cashier (another new hire - business had been improving lately, and the store had become busy enough Evelyn had needed to hire more people on lunch shift), and after a minute had leaned over and whispered something in her ear. The woman had gone instantly silent, the blood draining from her face. She’d paid quick enough after that, and hurried from the store like the hounds of hell were after her. Mr. Crowley had just shrugged when asked what he said, and told her some people just needed reminding the world didn’t revolve around them.

Anyway, Evelyn really likes Mr. Crowley. He always seems surprised by that, which is honestly a little sad, and she really hopes that whoever ‘Angel’ is, he’s treating Mr. Crowley well. She would hate to think that someone he so obviously loved would let him continue to think he wasn’t likable.

And then, one day, Mr. Crowley comes in and orders his usual hot cocoa, a caramel mocha, and, for the first time, asks for a table. _For two_. And, fuck it, Evelyn lets herself get excited. Because, after nearly two years of seeing Mr. Crowley come in every couple of days, she’s _finally_ going to get to know who ‘Angel’ really is.

“Gotta be his boyfriend,” Katie whispers when she hands Evelyn the hot cocoa.

“Nah,” Marco says, just as quiet. “Guy like that? He’s gotta be mafia. It’s probably his boss meeting him to set up a contract.”

Liam, who just started two days ago, shakes his head. “He doesn’t look like mafia to me.”

“Maybe it’s just a friend,” Evelyn tells them. “Or a business partner, for all we know.” She reminds herself sternly to not get her own hopes up. But she really, really wants this ‘Angel’ to be his boyfriend.

“I still think it’s his mafia boss,” Marco insists, leaning on the counter to watch Mr. Crowley. She has to order him to the back to make up whipped cream before he stops staring.

Mr. Crowley, meanwhile, has picked out a nice table near the shelf of plants he’s brought in over the years. He angles himself so his back is to the wall, and watches the door expectantly, but he smiles up at Evelyn when she drops off his drinks.

“Hot date?” she asks, only half joking, and he laughs.

“Something like that,” he says. “It’s our anniversary. Thought I’d make it special.” He quickly shows her a small velvet box he had hidden in a pocket. Inside is a set of rings, one gold with angel wings, another in silver formed to look like a serpent. “We’re going for a walk later. Thought I’d… you know.” He blushes and puts the box away.

“Oh wow.” Even that brief look told Evelyn that those rings had been chosen with extreme care for the couple that would be wearing them. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Crowley says, almost to himself. “I’ve been waiting thousands of years to be able to do this.”

She goes back to the kitchen to find her three baristas waiting eagerly.

“So?” Katie asks. “Which is it? Boyfriend? Mafia boss?”

“Boyfriend,” Evelyn confirms. “He’s got rings.”

Their eyes go wide, and they all lean around the door to look at Mr. Crowley, who is now playing with his necklace and staring absently out the window down the street. That’s when Evelyn notices a most _unwelcome_ figure making his way towards the cafe.

“Oh no,” Marco mutters. “Not _him_.” He’s had his own run-ins with Mr. Fell, and shares Evelyn’s dislike.

“Please don’t be coming here. Please don’t be coming here,” Evelyn mutters under her breath. The last thing she wants is this pompous asshole to show up and make a black spot on Mr. Crowley’s day. “Please please please don’t be coming here.”

“What?” Liam asks, frowning.

“Mr. Fell,” Katie explains. “He can be a bit… much, sometimes.” She likes the old man, somehow. But then again, Katie seems to like _everyone_.

“Very holier-than-thou,” Evelyn adds, watching with trepidation as the bookshop owner gets nearer. He does _look_ like he’s headed towards **_Caffeine Eden_** , but he hasn’t been by in months, so maybe he’s just passing through? “He’s the exact opposite of Mr. Crowley. Always acting like he’s better than the rest of us.”

“I don’t think he means to,” Katie adds. “He just… doesn’t realize how he comes off to people.”

There’s no denying it. Mr. Fell is _definitely_ headed for the cafe. “Fuck,” Evelyn swears when he puts his hand on the door. “Well.” She sighs. “Nothing to it. Let’s just get him his drink quick and hope he doesn’t try to bother Mr. Crowley.” She starts toward the register, but then the door opens, Mr. Fell steps inside, and something impossible happens.

Mr. Crowley sees Mr. Fell. And his _whole face_ lights up.

“Angel!” he calls. Behind Evelyn, Katie gasps, and Marco trips over a milk crate.

Evelyn’s jaw drops as Mr. Crowley strides forward to meet Mr. Fell halfway to the table, then guides him to a seat with his hand on his back.

“Got your favorite,” he says as the other man sits down, nudging the still-steaming mug of cocoa closer.

And Mr. Fell rests a hand on Mr. Crowley’s arm, and the look on his face is just… Evelyn _knows_ that look. She sees it every day when she comes home to her wife. It’s the look of someone so deeply in love no one else in the world could even come close.

“Katie,” Evelyn says quietly. “What’s that cake Mr. Fell likes?”

“The German Chocolate?” Katie asks looking at Marco, who shrugs. “Yeah. It was the German Chocolate.”

“Get me a piece of that, and that lemon tart Mr. Crowley said was good last time. Ring it up under my account.” Katie nods and goes to the pastry case. Evelyn watches Mr. Crowley return to his seat, leaning back and just… _watching_ as Mr. Fell takes a sip of the cocoa. And… wow. She has honestly never seen him look like that before. Like nothing at all matters except the man in front of him.

She takes the plates over to the men and sets them down on the table. Mr. Crowley turns to her and raises an eyebrow, and she shrugs. “On the house,” she says, with a wink for Mr. Crowley where Mr. Fell can’t see. He laughs.

“Thank you, my dear girl,” Mr. Fell says, and this time she doesn’t really think he’s trying to be pompous. It sounds like he means it. Maybe he’s meant it before, and she just thought he was being stuck up because she wasn’t used to the way he speaks? She’s not sure. But if he’s somebody Mr. Crowley loves, then he can’t be truly that bad, can he? She remembers the rings in Mr. Crowley’s pocket. And the look on Mr. Fell’s face when he was watching Mr. Crowley. Perhaps she was mistaken about him.

She watches them for the next hour or so, as they sit and talk. Each time she comes close enough to hear, they’re discussing wildly different topics. She watches Mr. Fell watch Mr. Crowley as he talks about the stars. And, later, Mr. Crowley watch Mr. Fell as he discusses what sounds like a new book he found for his collection. She doesn’t get it. They’re clearly _such_ different people. But they are also, just as clearly, deeply in love. Watching them makes her want, very badly, to just go home and be with her wife for a while.

Eventually they get up to leave, and Mr. Crowley offers his arm to Mr. Fell, who takes it. And together they walk off in the opposite direction from Mr. Fell’s shop.

“That was… unexpected,” Marco says, once they’re gone.

“Yeah, but I do hope Mr. Fell says yes,” Katie says. “They were so cute together, did you see?”

“I guess we’ll find out next time we see Mr. Crowley,” Evelyn tells them. “Now come on, back to work. We can’t lose the whole day just because Mr. Crowley is going to propose to Mr. Fell.” This is met with a chorus of groans, but the threat of making them all stay late to do inventory is enough to get them moving again.

The next day Mr. Fell comes into the shop alone. Evelyn tenses, unsure of how to deal with him now, and glances at his hand. And there it is. The silver serpent ring Mr. Crowley had showed her the day before. Seeing it relaxes her enough to give him a genuine smile. And he still comes off as a little pompous, a little holier-than-thou, and she still doesn’t really _like_ him. But he orders his cocoa and a vanilla latte, and the soft way he says Mr. Crowley’s name when he tells her who it’s for is just… well. She can’t _not_ like someone who clearly cares so much about Mr. Crowley.

It’s still strange, seeing them together. And they come into the cafe together quite a bit after that. They’re so different, complete opposites, really. But they’re also very much in love. And while she doesn’t really understand it, she doesn’t have to. The fact is that they are happy, and that’s all that really matters, in the end.

*Three weeks after she opened, to be exact. When all the other local business owners had welcomed her in the first few _days_. Not the chain stores, of course, nobody ever expected them to care much about a new cafe in the area, so long as it didn’t take away their business. But the small businesses, the local folks who work in their own stores and really take pride in contributing to the neighborhood, they’d all come to say hello. Hell, even a few men she suspected of running the local mob had popped in one morning to welcome her to the street.

**Evelyn’s wife is a seamstress herself, and came in one day specifically to take a look at Mr. Fell’s clothes after hearing Evelyn rant about the man for the 100th time. She said she hadn’t seen that particular style of coat sold anywhere in years, and if she had to guess, he probably had all his clothes tailor-made because they fit him beautifully. And also that the fabric alone would have cost a small fortune.

***Mostly out of self-defense. You learn quick to be extra careful around the grouchy ones, or you can bet they’ll be asking to see your manager.”


End file.
